


I Could Be Your Type

by aralias



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Costume Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:44:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the B_E anon mem prompt: Costume kink! All of the Master's weirder disguises, such as Kalid, are a result of his knowing what gets the Doctor hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Be Your Type

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2011, but for some reason it never made it to the AO3. Enjoy!

“It’s not you,” the Doctor says soothingly. “It’s me.” He transfers the laser spanner he’s been using to realign the Logopolians’ controls to his other hand and pats Master on the shoulder. “I am sorry, you know, but you’re just not my type.”

“Not your type,” the Master repeats. 

“No.”

“What is your type then, Doctor?” the Master asks. He turns slowly towards the bench on which the young airhostess is sleeping, his left eyebrow raised in an obvious question. 

“Certainly not!” the Doctor splutters. “What do you take me for?”

“I apologise,” the Master demurs. “Would I be right in assuming you like them blonder, with a taste in garments as questionable as your own?” 

“Ah,” the Doctor says, “so you’ve heard about Romana then. Well, for your information Romana wasn’t my type either.” 

“Then _what_ ,” the Master demands through gritted teeth, “is your type, Doctor?” 

“Oh, I couldn’t tell you,” the Doctor says. 

“ _Doctor_ -”

“No, it’s much too embarrassing-”

“My dear Doctor,” the Master says sliding closer, “you’ve just turned me down. For all you know, you’ve broken my hearts forever-”

“Heart,” the Doctor corrects him. “Tremas only had the one.”

“The point, Doctor,” the Master says with only a slight tightening of his smile, “is that you owe me an embarrassment in return.” 

“Really?” the Doctor asks, eyes wide. He gives a facial shrug. “All right. My type- do try not to laugh, there’s a good fellow – my type is...”

*

It takes a while for the Doctor to recover his wits in Castrovalva. For a while he’s only vaguely aware of his surroundings: the pale walls, and people in tall hats, and one old man in particular, dressed in all white, who hands him a sleeping draught and then watches over him during the night. 

A short time after he remembers who he is, the Doctor realises who the man in white must be, and exactly why this situation is so uncomfortable. He makes vague excuses and leaves Nyssa and Tegan in charge of the situation until the Master unmasks himself, which is better for everyone. 

*

The last thing one would expect to find in pre-historic Heathrow is an Oriental mystic with a high regard for one’s TARDIS and a low regard for one’s personal space – yet that is exactly who the Doctor finds there. Eyes flashing, long nails hovering over a large crystal ball, a mad grin and on his... is that green tinged face? It’s either a massive coincidence or-

“I don't understand,” the Doctor murmurs, though he isn’t entirely surprised when the Master emerges from the costume laughing. 

 

*

It’s a shame that the Master’s French accent is so unconvincing. The nose is really quite good. 

“Oh my dear Doctor,” the Master crows, “you have been naïve.”

“Not at all. You may disguise your features, but you can never disguise your intent,” the Doctor replies, though really he means “but you should perhaps see a vocal coach before your next undercover operation.” A real French accent would have conjured up all the right images of dinner beneath the Eiffel tower and- oh brilliant, now he’s being asked to consummate his victory. This is ridiculous. 

*

The Doctor reverses Bessie back towards the figure in black. “Jehosophat,” he exclaims, “it really is you.” He wants to ask why in Rassilon’s name the Master is dressed as a vampire, but suspects he wouldn’t like the answer. Best to be aloof. “Yes, well, I should have known you'd be behind all this.”

“Doctor, who is it?” Sarah asks from beside him. 

_You don’t want to know,_ the Doctor thinks to himself, wondering if it would be too rude to just drive off. 

*

Sarn is perhaps their worst encounter. In quick succession the Master appears as a businessman in a sharp suit, a silver robot and a very, very tiny version of himself. The Doctor’s lip quirks at the last one, though he tries to keep it steady. Things are very serious. Poor Master (aha. Oh god. No, no, really. Very serious) Poor, poor Master... 

*

“Oh, now, that is it!” the Doctor explodes when he notices the scarecrow in the field opposite staring at him, and then twitching back into position as though to disguise the fact. “Master!” he calls, striding across through rows of corn. “Master-”

“My dear Doctor,” the Master says, raising his floppy hat in greeting. “What a pleasant-”

“This has to stop,” the Doctor tells him firmly. “Haven’t you realised by now that I was having you on? Green skinned mystics? Vampires? Very tiny men?” 

“Well,” the Master begins.

“ _Scarecrows??_ ” the Doctor demands. “Scare- It’s such an obvious lie, I can barely believe you, even you, Master, believed it.” 

“Believed what?” the Master asks. “My dear Doctor, I simply disguised myself in this manner to better spy on our erstwhile school mate, the Rani.” 

“The Rani’s here?” the Doctor asks. “What’s she- no, I’m sorry. This is just a distraction. I don’t want to see you in any more ridiculous costumes ever again, do you understand me? I simply didn’t want to have sex with you on Logopolis because you’d destroyed a third of the cosmos. And I don’t like your beard.” 

The Master raises his eyebrows. “What if I shaved the beard off?” 

“No,” the Doctor says firmly. He crosses his arms to emphasise his point. “Third. Cosmos. Destroyed. Goodbye Master.”

“Very well,” the Master sighs. “I shall depart.” 

“Good,” the Doctor says. He watches the scarecrow wander mournfully back across the field, and then returns to where Peri is standing next to the TARDIS. 

“What was that about?” Peri asks. 

“Nothing,” the Doctor says. “It was nothing.”

“Was that the Master?” 

“No,” the Doctor says. “I tell you what, Peri, why don’t you have a look around here for a bit? I’m just going to-”

“Take a cold shower?” Peri suggests. 

“What? No,” the Doctor says as he opens the TARDIS doors, “whatever gave you that idea?” 

Peri’s look is incredulous, but the Doctor closes the door quickly. 

“Scarecrows,” he mutters to himself. He shakes his head and shudders- though not entirely with displeasure, “Why can’t I have any normal fantasies?” and goes to have a very cold shower before the Rani sees him like this. 

*


End file.
